


Goodnight, Robin

by catie_writes_things



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bedtime, Domestic, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff, Gen, child!Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 11:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12432078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things
Summary: Putting Dick Grayson to bed is a bit of an ordeal.





	Goodnight, Robin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamfitzwilliamdarcy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/gifts).



Putting Dick Grayson to bed was a drawn-out process. The boy always came back from patrol on a high, a hyperactive red and green ball of energy. It would be no exaggeration to say that he literally bounced off the walls.

On this particular night, he somersaulted out of the batmobile, excitedly recounting the night’s adventures as if Bruce had not been with him the entire time.

“And then that third guy showed up with the knife - like he was gonna fight Batman with a knife, right? But I kicked it out of his hand before he could do anything and said ‘Knife to meet you!’”

Dick laughed at his own joke, just as he had during the actual fight, and continued his excited narration. Bruce gently shepherded the boy towards the showers, contributing only the occasional “mmhm” to his end of the conversation.

Alfred had already lain out pajamas and slippers - matching sets, large and small - by the showers in the cave. Bruce still had work to do tonight, but the “no costumes upstairs” rule was strictly enforced, and he had quickly figured out that it was easier to get Dick to comply with the bedtime routines if he went through them as well.

As he showered and changed with his usual efficiency, Bruce could still hear Dick’s animated chatter from the next stall over. At some point the subject had changed from their own crime fighting activities to Superman’s latest exploits.

Bruce had to finally interrupt the boy’s speculation about how Superman got his hair cut when the water was still running fifteen minutes after he’d finished dressing himself. “Dick,” he said sternly, “Get dressed. Now.”

He heard the water turn off, and a few minutes later Dick cartwheeled out of the shower stall, pajama shirt unbuttoned and hair dripping wet, not caring in the slightest about the slick tile floor.

“But even his hair is invulnerable, Bruce! It never gets singed or anything when bad guys try to blow him up! Do you think his barber has Kryptonite clippers that he uses?”

“I don’t care about Superman’s hair,” Bruce answered. “Let’s dry yours.”

As Bruce grabbed a clean towel, Dick grinned mischievously, then backflipped out of reach. “Catch me first,” he taunted.

Bruce indulged the boy in two more evasive maneuvers before grabbing him firmly by the collar of his pajamas. Dick squirmed and giggled but made no further genuine effort to escape as Bruce scrubbed his hair with the towel.

When Dick was properly dried and buttoned, he started up his chatter again, only slightly less enthusiastically than before. With one hand on his shoulder, Bruce steered him towards the stairs as he verbally weighed the pros and cons of whether he would like to be a Green Lantern when he grew up.

Alfred was waiting for them in the kitchen with two glasses of warm milk - Dick couldn’t sleep without it, but wouldn’t drink it unless Bruce did, too.

“A productive evening, sirs?” Alfred asked.

“I’d say so!” Dick answered, then launched into another, somewhat less animated recap of the night’s events, pleased to have a new audience. Bruce sipped pointedly at his glass of milk, interrupting Dick’s narrative periodically just to give the boy a chance to drink his own.

When Dick’s glass was empty, Alfred bid them goodnight. Dick yawned, his seemingly boundless energy finally starting to fade. Bruce knew he was even more tired than he was letting on when he wordlessly climbed onto his back - something the child who prefered back handsprings to walking only did when he was truly too exhausted to make it upstairs to his room on his own power.

Still, as Bruce carried him to bed, Dick continued to mumble idle nonsense into his shoulder.

Dick’s voice eventually trailed off, just as Bruce laid him down. He checked to make sure he had his stuffed elephant, and tucked the covers snuggly around him. As he made his way out of the room, Bruce absently picked up a few stray books and articles of clothing that had been left on the floor, placing them on top of the dresser and in the laundry hamper, respectively.

He paused at the door, one hand on the lightswitch, and looked back at his soundly sleeping ward. The young boy who had lost so much, seen so much darkness, but who would have no nightmares tonight. Bruce had seen to that in every way he knew how.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

Then he switched off the light and went back downstairs to continue his own sleepless vigil.


End file.
